


A Dose of the Sublime

by fresne



Series: Variations on an Equation [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternative Universe - Different First Meeting, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female John, First Time, Genderbending, Het, Knotting, Language, Literary Discussion during Sex, MaleAlpha/FemaleOmega, No mpreg, Omega John, Podfic, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes, Stendhal's Syndrome, Vaginal Sex, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 20:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where the reality where academic rivalry – begun when Professor Holmes' review of Professor Moriarty's book "Monks, Demons and Bleeding Nuns of the Romantics" called it puerile and repetitive - had Professor Moriarty slipping a dose of f***heat into Professor Holmes's favourite student's tea just as the Meg was toddling on her way to manufacture a question for Oh-Your-Analyses-Are-So-Amazing-Professor-Holmes, Oh-You-Are-So-Brilliant, Oh-Could-You-Explain-Something-Obvious-With-Your-C**k.</p><p>He (and a few million other people on the internet) watched what then unfolded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: for being Omegaverse, language, and someone's heat being triggered without their consent (so like double the dubious consent), and a certain amount of literature abuse.
> 
> My apologies to Mary Shelley. Which is to say, Holmes is quoting Frankenstein, specifically the scene when Dr. F creates the creature.
> 
> Also, given that this is Moriarty's POV, his statements regarding external judgement of body issues are not my own.
> 
> The following may be considered as inspiration for my work and inspiration for my dialogue, possibly even quotes because apt quotes are cool:  
> Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Where the reality where academic rivalry – begun when Professor Holmes' review of Professor Moriarty's book "Monks, Demons and Bleeding Nuns of the Romantics" called it puerile and repetitive - had Professor Moriarty slipping a dose of fuckheat into Professor Holmes's favourite student's tea just as the Meg was toddling on her way to manufacture a question for Oh-Your-Analyses-Are-So-Amazing-Professor-Holmes, Oh-You-Are-So-Brilliant, Oh-Could-You-Explain-Something-Obvious-With-Your-Cock.

Moriarty's timing was perfect. He made it back to his own office. Moriarty popped the cork on the bottle of champagne he had chilling. He popped some popcorn. He propped his feet on his desk to watch the live stream from the camera that he'd had an Engineering student setup in Holmes' office in exchange for a passing grade in Intro to English Literature.

Holmes pet was just perfect. She shimmied into Holmes' office and closed the door, "Are you busy Professor?" 

Moriarty sneered over a handful of popcorn. As if anyone visited Holmes during office hours. No one visited Moriarty either, but at least his TAs were in proper terror of him and took care of things, not quitting in tears. 

It took Holmes exactly three seconds to vault over his geologic disaster of a desk – Moriarty suspected the lost folio of the "The Seven Pillars of Wisdom" was under there somewhere – swept the piled contents off the only chair in the room, which at this point should be considered the little bitches' dog bed. Certainly no else ever sat there. Dean Lestrade tried a few weeks ago and Holmes piled the complete works of George Sand on top of it. 

"No, Miss Watson. Yes. No, of course." He did the ridiculous I'm-Emotionally-Constipated-But-I-Want-To-Fuck-You hair fluff thing. 

Moriarty mimed it. 

"Did you have a question?" Holmes perched on the edge of his desk dangerously close to causing a Gothic literature landslide and tried to put on a smile on like a normal person, which he was not. Neither of them were. That was the point. They were better than all these…

Simmons' poked her head in Moriarty's office door. "I've finished washing your car, sir, Professor, sir, is there anything…"

"Fuck off, I'm busy." Simmons glanced at the wide screen monitor, but was sufficiently cowed to scurry off. 

Moriarty looked at the feed stats. A few thousand. Not as good as he'd hoped. At least some souls had actually clicked through to the free porn spam. Trusting of them, but they were about to be rewarded for their trust.

"Yes, Professor." She plopped her frankly enormous ass in the chair.

She brushed her cheek, which was already flushing with heat. "You uh… you mentioned in class today that when Frankenstein first sees the creature he experiences Stendhal's Syndrome, but I don't, um" The little bitch was fanning herself, "um, Professor, I just don't get it."

Holmes said, "You know my methods, Miss Watson. Apply them."

"Well, um…" She crossed and recrossed her black stockinged legs, shifting the pleats of her fairly horrible yellow and black plaid skirt. 

Moriarty wasn't going to complain about wardrobe. Lumpy shapeless black sweater and a plaid skirt with heavy stockings. She looked like she was in Catholic high school, not uni. 

She shifted some more. "Okay, so, he feels dizzy and horrified when he sees what he's created and… yeah, no. I don't know. He's a horrible dad. Fuck him."

Holmes sighed his Simultaneously-Peeved-And-Delighted-To-Show-Off sigh. "Think, Miss Watson, think. Use your brain." 

She laughed and tossed her I'm-A-Dumb-Blond-Please-Fuck-Me hair over her shoulder. "Yeah, I've got an Engineering major brain, not a super Lit analysis brain. Please," she leaned forward on her knees, "Could you walk me through it? It really helps." 

Holmes breathed in. Moriarty hoped he was getting off a good whiff. By now, the little bitch had to be putting out all sorts of Fuck-Me stench. 

What did the Virgin do, but close his eyes and look like he was praying. "How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! -- Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips." Holmes opened his eyes and spread his hands out palms up. "Frankenstein had spent years creating the creature, crafting it, creating life. Something sublime. Something reserved for the gods. Not just the rude exchange of sweat slick bodies mindlessly moving against each other to knot and…" Holmes flushed and swallowed heavily. He glanced up and away and then back again. "Um… yes, not sex, Miss Watson." 

"Yeah, Professor," she was fairly pink cheeked herself, "Sex. Yeah," she twisted some more in her chair and fanned herself, "but I don't understand why something sublime would make him react, um, why…" She was going to say it. She was going to say it. "Wow, it's really hot in here." Then she started taking off her clothes. She pulled off her sweater. Her body twisting to reveal a button up white shirt as she pulled the wool over her head and dropped it onto her backpack. A very tight buttoned up shirt straining against the pressure her cantaloupe sized breasts. 

Moriarty downed his glass of champagne and poured himself another. "Better and better."

Holmes was staring at his pet as if she was simultaneously the original "Jane Eyre" manuscript and a sequel produced by Hollywood.

There was a strand of her blonde hair stuck to the wax of her pink lipstick.

"You have a," he reached out and his fingers pulled slowly across his pet's flushed cheek as he freed the hair. They both inhaled sharply at the same time and let it out in the same rhythm. 

"The sublime." Holmes cleared his throat and knitted his hands tightly together. Tight enough to make the knuckles white. "You were asking about the sublime."

"Yeah, Professor." She simpered a You-Are-So-Brilliant-For-Knowing-A-Basic-Concept-Professor look. She'd managed to dislodge a button on her shirt. Moriarty supposed that shirt was under a lot of pressure. "I feel. Hmmm…" 

Holmes was staring at her as if he was Oliver Twist and she was an extra bowl of soup. Holmes' eyes were enormous. He breathed in deeply and shifted uncomfortably on his desk. "Kant, yes, Kant. He divided the sublime into three types: the noble, the splendid and the terrifying."

"Terrifying," breathed his pet. "I…" She squirmed in her chair. "I just can't get. I feel. Oh, mmmm… God, you are so beautiful."

Holmes reacted as if struck. "No, no, no. The sublime isn't beautiful." Holmes was staring at her like a wee enormous orphan. Perhaps he was an Brobdingnagian orphan. "It's irregular, immense and overwhelming." He rubbed at the side of his head and swallowed. "Overwhelming."

"Yeah." She rubbed at her chest, and another highly stressed button popped free. "But, Stendahl."

"Miss Watson," Holmes slid closer, "When Stendahl was exposed to the art in Florence, he felt dizzy. Simultaneous pleasure and terror at a feeling so powerful it could destroy him. This is what Frankenstein felt. He gave into that terror. Have you ever…" 

"Yeah, Professor, yeah… I..." She rubbed at her chest and two more buttons came undone. 

Moriarty refilled his glass. At least the shirt wasn't under any more strain. He toasted the screen. "Nice bra. Where did you buy it? Sears?"

Holmes said, "Miss Watson, I should," and moved closer. He swallowed. Poor Brobdingnagian thing.

Moriarty was taking a sip of champagne just as Holmes breathed rapidly three times and launched himself at his pet, who launched herself at him. 

Moriarty almost choked. It was the most hilariously awkward thing he had ever seen. He'd have thought Holmes had never kissed anyone. Oh, wait, he hadn't. 

There were mashed lips as teeth ground. Limbs everywhere. The remaining buttons ripped off her shirt. Holmes' hands frantically struggling with the hooks of the little bitch's epically sturdy bra, until she twisted away and reached back, and the bra was off and flung to dangle off the Look-How-Pretentious-I-Am bust of Veronica Franco.

Holmes just kept saying, "The sublime, you're, Miss Watson, I, oh… it's more important than beauty! Miss Watson, do you? Do you understand! Miss Watson!" While practically bending in half to frantically kiss one breast and then the other.

"Make up your mind man. Pick a breast and stick to it," said Moriarty. He ate another handful of popcorn.

Moriarty realized there was something he'd forgotten, and cued the porn music into the feed as Holmes pushed up his pet's plaid skirt. 

Moriarty said, "Oh, my, Miss Watson, how naughty." 

That hideous knee length skirt had been hiding the fact that the little bitches' thick black tights were actually knee high stockings. There was a good thirteen inches of bare plump thighs before ending in lacy red panties, which stretched across that epic ass of hers. A hook of the pet's thumbs and the panties were being shaken off in a ridiculous dance. Holmes lifted her up by her enormous ass and his favourite little pet wrapped her meaty thighs around Holmes while he mashed his face between her breasts as she humped against him.

Then the naughty little pet did something with Holmes belt and…

"We have trousers at half mast. We have half mast trou," giggled Moriarty. If only Holmes had gotten a pet when this all started, but then Miss Watson would have actually been in high school instead of just looking it. Moriarty toasted the marvellous present day. He checked the stats on the live feed. Better and better. Up to a million and a half views.

Holmes adjusted his ridiculously long fingers around his pet's bare ass and spun her around to seat her on the mounds of paper on top of his desk. She squirmed against him. "I get, Professor Holmes, I get it, it's terrifying and I want… give it to me." She shoved Holmes' underwear down first with her hands and then feet. 

"We have free cock. We have a free cock. The cock is free." Moriarty chuckled over the stats. Two point one million views. "Although," he sniffed, "mine's bigger." Possibly. Holmes flailed around awkwardly with his cock. Miss Watson gave him a hand, lined him up and, "We have fucking. We have achieved active fucking."

It was not nearly as funny as the early flailing had been. 

At first there wasn't much to see. Holmes was just sort of slowly sinking into her, and they were scrunching their faces, and making, "Oh," noises.

Holmes' favourite student lifted her hips and whined, "Please, Professor. I need," and Holmes was on the move.

Holmes was a musician. Moriarty had to give him that he had a good sense of rhythm. He was certainly pounding a series of ratcheting whines out of his pet. Not that she wasn't giving Holmes a pretty active ride too, breasts bouncing, faced scrunched in a Oh-God-Sex expression and Moriarty was wishing he'd thought to setup a second camera. 

"Professor! Oh, Professor Holmes, I get it." She bucked against him and the Dickens was the floor. "I need. The. Sublime." She swept more papers off the desk. 

Holmes groaned, "Miss Watson, I need it too," and tightened his grip on her hips.

"Give it to me. Oh, God, yes, give it to me. Please, Professor." She kicked her heels against his back. "Harder. Give it to me. It's so big. Overwhelming. I need it. Give it to me."

Holmes was really giving it to her. He was actually shoving her across the desk. By now, he was half on the desk and half off it. He looked like a stork. More papers fell off. He pumped once and twice, and shook his head and pulled out of her and stumbled off the desk. 

This angle was probably making his cock seem larger than it was. 

The poor little favourite whined at the loss. "No. Please, Professor, I get it. Don't. I… give it…" 

Holmes pulled his pet forward on the desk and raised her legs over his shoulders. 

She laughed. "Angles of force, yeah, I get that." 

She hooked her naughty stockinged legs – oh my she was still wearing her shoes - around his neck and was almost bent in half on the desk as he jack hammered ratcheting cries and ratcheting cries from his little favourite - Moriarty clutched his champagne glass. 

Holmes yelled, "Miss Watson!" His body arched. 

The pet yelled, "Professor Holmes! Oh, God, Professor Holmes!" 

Holmes yelled a long guttural noise and stopped moving. His pet dropped her legs to wrap around his waist. "Professor… Oh, God. We've knotted. We've…I can feel you, oh God."

Moriarty checked the feed. "Knotted to three point six million views." He clucked his tongue. "Knotted and bred. Knocked up. One in the oven. In the duff. Up shit creek. Fucked." Holmes had slumped over his pet. Whispering something the feed couldn't catch.

Moriarty triggered the email to the Dean's office that would send a link for "registration" to the Dean's Conference in Atlanta, fifty percent off for registration in the next twenty-four hours. Dean Lestrade was famously cheap. His secretary would leap at the link and get an eyeful.

Moriarty scratched his belly. They weren't really doing much. He went to the restroom. All that champagne was going straight through him. 

When he came back, Holmes and his pet were actually sort of humping, which he hadn't thought was possible given the knot, but it wasn't called rutting for nothing, and ratcheting through another "Miss Watson!" "Oh, God! Professor," orgasm to another five hundred thousand views as Tokyo woke up and reached out for free porn. Konichiwa or something.

Moriarty finished his popcorn, but at this point, the show was fairly repetitive. Holmes had been reduced to fairly pathetic preverbal noises and his pet wouldn't shut up about the fucking knot already. It was getting boring. 

Still no Dean. 

By now Holmes had to have pumped his pet with a metric ton of his hopefully very virile sperm in her hopefully very fecund body. That would be the cherry on top. The absolute cherry on top. Unless she had an STD. That would be the cherry and sprinkles.

Although, they'd rolled over and currently the little favourite was writhing around on top of Holmes, going on about his knot and wanting more of the sublime. As based on the noises they were making, Holmes gave her some more.

Moriarty went so far as to grade a few papers, which was really beneath him. He glanced at the feed a few times. 

Eventually they decoupled. 

At some point, the fuckheat would wear off. The fratboy dick he'd bought the stuff from had sworn up and down that it would burn out of an Omega's system in hour or so leaving no trace, just the Omega's word against the Alpha's. Moriarty was quite pleased with the disguise he'd worn meeting the little dick. 

Still no Dean.

Now they were sprawled across the desk, holding each other. Holmes was crying and shaking of all things. He said, "I feel... I feel... Stendhal's Syndrome." Moriarty was glad he'd sprang for the more expensive sound system. He might make a gif of this moment.

The little bitch kissed Holmes. "Me too. But I've got you. I've got you."

Still no Dean.

They moved to the chair. She curled into Holmes' lap. They regressed to heavy petting. After the earlier show it was tame stuff. Although the numbers were holding up. Also, Holmes' member was firming up for another go.

Holmes' pet got up and locked the door - which given that Dean Lestrade had the key wasn't going to help much if he actually decided to show up - took off the rest of her clothes to reveal her chubby tummy, stripped Holmes of the rest of his – they really were a reverse Jack Sprat - and rode him for a loud round of sloppy seconds. Which was fortunate, because that meant Dean Lestrade showed up while a tenured professor was balls deep in an under-grad.

For the next three days, following Holmes summary career execution, Moriarty enjoyed the sweet feeling of success. 

He smiled at his TAs. 

He actually talked to his students. 

It was on the fourth day that the police showed up at his house. It would seem that bribing a university student with a B in Intro Literature was not enough to buy silence. Which he tried to explain as merely an academic prank that had gone amiss. 

His lawyer Moran latched onto the defensive strategy that Professor James Moriarty was merely guilty of spying on a fellow professor, really how was he to know that Professor Holmes was fucking his students, and it was Miss Watson herself who had arranged to go to office hours during her heat.

It turned out Holmes had been pretty determined to figure out what had happened. Possibly the pet too. She certainly trotted around after him.

They preserved the cup of tea with its traces of fuckheat. They insisted his office garbage be searched to find the extra he'd thrown out. Who did that?

Miss Watson smiled cheerfully throughout the trial while the illiterate Engineering student and even the Frat Dick gave their evidence. Somehow Holmes'd even tracked down the security camera footage from the store across from the Frat house and an ATM down the street, which showed someone that might have looked like him.

Moriarty made clear to Moran that the weak link would have to be the bitch. 

Moriarty was fairly certain that during one of the breaks, Holmes went down on her in the bathroom. He could see it in their eyes. Also in the slight stain on Holmes' trousers and the cat in the cream glow on the little favourites' self-satisfied face.

Moran went hard on the slutty bitch angle just as Moriarty had instructed. They got an ex of hers to testify that her nickname was Three Continents Watson. Shame the little slut back to the stone age.

But somehow, she was the one controlling the jury. She brought the house down when she answered Moran, "No, I wasn't the virgin in the room. For Christ's sake, it's the twenty-first century. Omegas control their own sexuality. Get over it." Then she'd crossed her legs wearing the exact same stockings that she'd been wearing that day. "I wasn't a virgin. It wasn't my first time. But it was William's. Have a little respect."

Moran narrowed his eyes. "Miss Watson you've been visiting Professor Holmes quite a bit, do you deny that you had a motive other than," he ostentatiously looked at his yellow legal pad, "learning more about the sublime?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, he's hot, but he's a professor. A decade older than me. The only reason I was in his class is because Stamford, my Academic Advisor, told me I needed to kill a Lit, Writing, and Omega Studies requirement or risk not graduating, and his class was the only one that had all three. I figured it would be three months of some Alpha alphasplaining what it means to be an Omega, but somehow it's one of the best classes I've ever taken. He's so engaged and passionate. He made something I thought would be boring interesting. So, yeah, I went to every class and review session and went to office hours because when..." 

Why wasn't Moran cutting her off. He gestured at his high priced lawyer, Moran said, "That's enough Miss Watson. I think it's clear from your testimony that you wanted William Sherlock Scott Holmes and having tried every other means, you were willing to do anything to have him."

The little bitch looked at the Judge, "But I still haven't answered his question about the sublime. I get to do that right? Answer his question."

The Judge nodded. "You can answer his question, Miss Watson."

She smiled across the room at Holmes who mooned ridiculously back at her. "The sublime is when you see something that isn't perfect. It's not tummy tucked or air brushed. It's raw and maybe it's ugly, but it's powerful. Looking at it is so overwhelming that you simultaneously freak out and want to keep on looking. In that definition, I did go to William's office to learn more about something that scared me shitless; something I didn't think I deserved. But I didn't take the fuckheat willingly. I'd just had my heat a week before and was trying to catch up in my classes. I wouldn't have wanted anyone's first time to be out of their mind. I wouldn't have wanted the best, most brilliant Alpha I've ever met to be out of his mind. What I would have wanted is for him to rationally experience the sublime in all its terrifying ugly beauty. And I certainly didn't want it to be broadcast across the internet. That's going to follow us forever. We didn't even use a condom." She straightened her shoulders. "Thank God I was on birth control or that's something else that that asswipe would have taken from us." 

Moran smiled an oily smile. "Are you and Mr. Holmes still sexually active?" 

"Uh, yeah. He's not my professor anymore." The bitch actually rolled her eyes, which should be illegal. "He recites "The Sonnets from the Portuguese" to me in bed, calls me an illiterate troglodyte for not getting it, which is fine because he's a total luddite, then demonstrates his explanation while we have consensual sex between two consenting adults. I mean really, have you heard his voice." She shrugged and nine of the jurors and one of the alternates nodded.

Moriarty was certain he could use that when he applied for a mistrial after the guilty verdict came down.

He really couldn't. 

Also, by the time Holmes and his bitch finished suing him for emotional distress, he'd been stripped of his degrees, his honours and most of his money. At least the money they knew about. He covered a smirk, because they hadn't uncovered the Cayman Island account.

On his way out of the courthouse on the civil case, a tall thin Beta, who might have made a good double for a scarecrow, stopped him. "You may count yourself fortunate that the end results of your actions were to the emotional benefit of William Holmes. You may be assured that had it been to the contrary, my response would not be so mild."

Which was when Moriarty discovered that he was being prosecuted by the SECC. It turned out that giving entitled trust fund morons a passing grade in exchange for stock tips from their parents was considered insider trading. Also, the fucking scarecrow knew about the Cayman Account.

Still, he'd always have literature.

The library of the prison where he'd be spending the next eight to ten years was entirely stocked in popular potboilers, best seller garbage and non-fiction.


	2. [podfic] A Dose of the Sublime

Writer/Reader: fresne  
Size: 11.202, 31.52  
Music Credit: Sting, All This Time (Live), Don't Stand So Close to Me

[Download the Podfic](http://fresne.podbean.com/mf/web/irnf5b/ADoseoftheSublime.mp3)

Now, what gets described in the story is probably these people,  


But this is a story set in a multi-verse, so it's also possibly these people,  
  
This being the world where Mary brings them together.

**Author's Note:**

> If after reading my fiction here, you would like to read more about me and my writing check out my profile.


End file.
